A TASTE OF LEAD. 185 



a-tellin' yer about the journey my old man, the old 

 mother, an' all on us med acrost the plains to Oregon. 

 'Twur that very time the thing happened that I'm 

 a-gwine to tell yer. I wur on the look-out every day 

 for buffler sign o' some sort ; an' so, I guess, wur we all, 

 as meat grew scarce in the camp. We'd had an Injun 

 fight the one in which I wur left 'ithout eyther father 

 or mother, as I bleeve I told yer. 



" Wai, the next mornin', arter buryin' the dead car- 

 kidges o' them as had gone under, a big drove o' buffler 

 kem tearin' torst us from the south'ard. Thur wur a 

 swell in the peraira that-a-way that kep' us from seein' 

 the critturs until they wur 'ithin a hundred yards o' 

 the camp. 



"Wai, we grabbed our shootin'-sticks purty slick, 

 you bet, an' let the varmints in the front o' the drove 

 hev a taste o' our lead. But 'twur o' no use a-tryin' to 

 turn the critturs. O' coorse, yer knows that a gang o' 

 bufflers goes straight ahead, 'ithout carin' whur they're 

 runnin', when they've got stampeded in airnest. Thur 

 wurn't time to wink when the hull lot wur among the 

 waggons. 



" I had got on top o' one o' these, thinkin' 'twur the 

 safest place about ; but afore I wur rightly settled the 

 thing wur heeled over an' capsized into the middle o' 

 them. I rec'lects that as plain as if 'twur only yester- 

 day it happened. I felt blamed queery, I kin tell yer, 

 when I wur whammelled over an' fell kerslap into an 

 ocean o' horns an' flamin' eyes an' steamin' noses. 



